


Everybody dies, dies

by lonesomewriter



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Angst, Death, Depression, Eating Disorders, Grim Reapers, I didn't know how to rate this, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Insomnia, M/M, Memory Loss, Rated For Violence, Self-Harm, Souls, Suicide, so I went with what felt right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonesomewriter/pseuds/lonesomewriter
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki fails to fall asleep one night, as has become a habit of his. The weight of his troubles crushes him to the point where he can't breathe, and he cracks under the pressure. Slipping out of his lover's embrace, Yuuri locks himself inside his bathroom, climbing in the bathtub with the intention of ending his misery.But it turns out, Yuuri doesn't die. He wakes up in afterlife with little memory of his past life, the irreversibility of his actions dawning to him slowly with the help of a man calling himself the Death itself.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 39
Kudos: 56
Collections: Viktuuri Angst Bang 2019





	1. Never Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> I heavily advise you to heed the tags, this isn't a happy story.
> 
> I wrote this for the [Viktuuri Angst Bang 2019](https://viktuuriangstbang.tumblr.com/), ([twitter](https://twitter.com/yoiangstbang)) but was only able to post it now due to a few personal troubles. But I'm so happy to be finally able to publish this piece that has become so very precious to me <3
> 
> I'd love to thank my partner for this bang, [cupromantic](https://cupromantic.tumblr.com/) ([twitter](https://twitter.com/cupromantic), [insta](https://www.instagram.com/cupromantic/)) who made the most heartbreaking and beautiful piece of art, bringing one of the scenes of this fic alive in a way that leaves me in tears, in the best way! The art will be published along with the corresponding chapter, so look forward to it! ^^
> 
> Also, a huge shoutout to [Sora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_tea_blue_pens), who kindly betaed the first version of this fic back in October last year. They did an amazing job and I'm forever indebted to them!
> 
> And lastly, the most thanks to that one person who reached out to me in discord, asking whether I was still planning on posting this fic. I honestly don't know how long it would've taken me to do this if I hadn't been poked a bit. So, all thanks to you <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri Katsuki is engulfed by a special kind of sadness, the kind that can't be eased with tears or comforting words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Graphic depictions of violence, Major Character Death, Self-harm, Suicide

_ Though the pressure's hard to take _

_ It's the only way I can escape _

_ It seems a heavy choice to make _

_ And now I am under _

_[Florence and the Machine - Never Let Me Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMBTvuUlm98&ab_channel=FlorenceMachineVEVO) _

  
  


Everything is fuzzy, and Yuuri can’t even explain why. He just happens to have startled awake in the middle of the night, and everything is inexplicably  _ wrong. _

It’s as if something crawled in through his ribcage while he was asleep, digging deep inside his heart only to force black blood into his veins, blocking out everything that is supposed to keep him alive. Even his thoughts are disorganized as a heavy, suffocating weight crushes his brains to mush.

Yuuri turns towards the man next to him, sleeping peacefully under the covers. It’s so dark he can’t properly distinguish the milky white skin, nor the silvery hair resting against the pillow. He is close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Viktor's body, close enough to smell the musky scent of his body wash.

A strong urge to touch takes over Yuuri. He needs to feel the heat radiating from his husband into his own cold skin, as a reminder that he is still alive. He reaches his hand forward, but stops before he gets too close. The darkness hides the trembling of his fingers as Yuuri curls them against his chest, his throat popping as he struggles to swallow.

He knows it would be for the best if he never again got close to Viktor. Without Yuuri, the Russian man would be so far.

Successful.

Something squeezes in his heart, and Yuuri can’t breathe. Unsolicited tears rise to his eyes, and there is nothing he can do to prevent them from falling down his cold face. He still tries, presses his hand over his mouth to keep himself from letting out even the smallest of noises.

What right does he have to cry? Viktor is the one who is suffering because of him, the one who has to fake happiness while Yuuri runs about, ruining everything.

He winces as the deep self loathing washes over him, and almost yelps from the stabbing pain in his chest. He presses his lips tighter together, squeezing his hands over his mouth until his fingernails dig into his skin, hard enough to draw blood.

Tears cloud his vision as he rises from the bed, the silky sheet sliding off his smooth skin with a gentle whoosh. He tries to be careful, but the bed still creaks when his weight leaves it. Yuuri freezes, holding his breath. Only after he’s certain Viktor’s breathing is as steady as before, he takes a staggering step towards the bathroom.

The carpet is soft underneath his feet. The sensation brings little comfort to Yuuri, whose only thought is to escape Viktor’s presence. If his husband were to wake up now, Yuuri isn’t sure he could bury his swirling emotions and smile as if nothing was wrong.

It is better to hide himself behind a locked door, hide where his chaotic mind can roam freely without worries of disrupting anyone.

Afraid that Viktor will wake up, Yuuri is careful when he pulls the door shut. He stands several minutes completely still, hardly breathing to assure the door won’t clank when he locks it. His sweaty fingers slip on the metallic knob, but after what feels like an eternity, he finally manages to shut it.

Yuuri draws a cautious breath, lungs screaming from holding his breath for so long. With sluggish movements, he turns towards the washbasin, avoiding looking at himself through the mirror as he opens the cabinet. It would be pointless, he already knows very well how he looks. The lack of appetite, insomnia and the emptiness gnawing at his insides have long ago done their job.

He pushes his hand inside the cabinet, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, blood rushing to his head when his fingers hit the corner of the package where their razor blades sit, tucked in securely. He takes out one with shaking fingers, and closes the cabinet.

A moment’s hesitation makes him turn off the lights. The darkness brings protection, the sensation similar to being embraced by a thick blanket. Yuuri rolls the razor in his hand, careful as to not slit himself.

He isn’t really sure whether he wants to bleed today, as the mere ability to touch the cold metal is enough to calm his aching heart. Now, he has a way to draw out the filth if he wants to, and the knowledge makes the storm inside him subside, albeit only momentarily.

Without a sound, Yuuri inches towards the edge of the bathtub, and climbs inside. He lays the razor blade on the edge, flinching when he loosens his grip on it. It is as if he has put his heart on the smooth porcelain instead of the blade, the thought almost funny in a grim kind of way.

After a moment of catching his breath, Yuuri curls up in a ball on the bottom of the tub, blinking his eyes to get used to the piercing darkness. He doesn't really mind the dark, as he often finds it more comforting and safer than during daylight when everyone can see his flaws and shortcomings.

All too soon, the silence becomes an oppressive, suffocating ring in his ears. Yuuri hugs his knees tight against his chin, trying to squish the pain away. He doesn’t know what is hurting him this time, what is causing him to suffer alone.

Maybe it's everything.

But the change is too quick, as just hours ago he had felt happy, content. Viktor had managed to lure him to the park with Makkachin, the ball of fur jumping enthusiastically in every puddle, drenching Yuuri thoroughly when he'd ran over to drown him in his excitement. It had been impossible not to smile, the whole day being so beautiful.

And then Yuuri had ruined it.

Just like he always ruins everything.

Oh, if he could only brush the useless, uninvited pain under a rug. Yuuri would more than gladly never stop smiling, would never be the cause of the many wrinkles on his beloved husband’s forehead, wrinkles that he knew were supposed to be hidden from him.

Yuuri always sees them.

A sudden flood of tears gushes out of his eyes, and Yuuri squeezes his mouth shut tight to swallow the ever growing, broken gasps that echo from the tiles into the dark space. His ribs strain painfully, but it is nothing compared to the iron wire intertwined around his heart. It squeezes him tight, the torment unbearable.

Yuuri has no right to feel this agony. Not the slightest. Viktor is the one who suffers the most, from all the ways Yuuri hurts and disappoints him. 

All because he doesn't know how to heal. 

Why Viktor hasn't left yet, Yuuri cannot understand. His husband is on a whole other level, and Yuuri is… 

Well, Yuuri is actually nothing. A worthless, useless wreck of a human being who isn’t fit to be with anyone. 

The thought breaks the tattered pieces of Yuuri's heart into dust. The pain turns intolerable, and Yuuri gasps for breath without getting any air to his lungs. It is as if he suffocates in his own incompetence, finally stops receiving the air he doesn't deserve. He is a parasite, filthy and pathetic. Why does he even bother trying to breathe? What right does he even have to? 

Yuuri's chest clenches, his heart throbbing as blood rushes to his head. 

If only he was a stronger person, a better husband to his beloved. Maybe then life wouldn't hurt this much. The thought makes him gasp, and the lashing pain bursts into flames in his chest. For a fleeting moment Yuuri is sure he will choke to death, and he spatters saliva all over himself, while his body falls further to the bottom of the bathtub.

But no, the moment passes. Yuuri's eyes grow dim when he inhales ravenously, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. He tries his best to stay quiet, but he can't tell if he succeeds. As long as Viktor doesn't wake up, everything is fine. 

After a moment of catching his breath, Yuuri tries to lift himself up from the tub. But his arms are too weak, still trembling, flaccid and unable to grasp the slippery porcelain. A clank echoes in the bathroom when Yuuri’s elbow hits the edge of the bathtub, and he freezes to the spot, afraid to death that Viktor will finally wake up. 

He closes his eyes and counts to ten. The image of the disappointment in his beloved’s face flashes in his mind, making his cheeks heat up from the piercing shame. How unfit he is as a human, not even able to give his lover space.

If he didn’t exist, Viktor would never have to awaken from his slumber to pick up the fragmented pieces of Yuuri scattered around the floor anymore. Those rare occasions when his husband has found him in the dead of night burned inside Yuuri’s heart, the embarrassment insurmountable. He doesn’t even know how to be sad without pulling Viktor down with him.

Yuuri’s fingers fumble for the razor blade, and for a moment he panics when he can’t find it. But soon enough a sharp sting radiates from the tip of his finger, and he sighs contentedly. The finger is sore, and tiny droplets of blood flow little by little down his palm.

For a second, the clouds fogging his mind evaporate, and Yuuri knows he has to bleed tonight. The thought gives him solace, even though he knows it’ll be difficult to clean it up without making a sound. He has to be quick, so the blood doesn’t have time to dry into the porcelain.

Yuuri places the razor gently on top of his left arm, and feels the weak pulse in his hand, letting a smile slip to his face. Soon, he’ll be alive once more, ready to see everything clearly.

A deep inhale, his eyes screw shut, tight. A slow, steady cut. Yuuri adds pressure until the pain turns strident, and only lets go when he’s reached halfway to his forearm.

His right hand is barely able to hold onto the blade from all the shaking, but Yuuri doesn’t even notice. He opens his eyes, but sees nothing in the dark room. His pulse is picking up, hot blood gushing down his arm, down his thighs and all the way to the bottom of the tub and down the drain.

Yuuri’s breath wheezes, his momentarily brightened thoughts turning disjointed. He forces his lips shut tight, focusing on the feeling of the thick blood pulsating from his arm.

It doesn’t take long before Yuuri’s body begins to lose heat, his teeth clattering frantically in his mouth. He faintly realises he must’ve pressed too hard when the blood continues to flow harder than ever before. A sliver of something akin to panic ignites in his chest, but Yuuri pushes it away.

The situation is actually better than he could’ve hoped for.

With heavy breaths, ignoring the spots clouding his vision, Yuuri lifts the razor from the bottom of the tub where it had fallen. He can just about hold it in his left hand, but manages to make a cut to his right arm, albeit way shallower than the first one.

And then, Yuuri feels more tired than he has ever been before. His cold body slumps against the bathtub, not unlike a marionette whose strings have been slashed. Yuuri closes his eyes, his consciousness slowly falling down the drain along the blood.

Somehow he knows he has done something irreversible this time. But it is exactly that fact which makes him so very calm, almost happy, even. Now he won't ever be able to hurt Viktor again, now everything is as it should be.

A warmth engulfs him, cradling him into a peaceful dream.

Everything is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


	2. My Secret Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri finds himself drifting in a space between life and death, all his memories gone, left with no care for what is to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I forgot to tag this thing as angst ^^' well, if it wasn't obvious...

_In your skin to die a little death_

_This time there's no code word_

_When everyday frays in hollow ends_

_Dream sweet love subversive_

_[IAMX - My Secret Friend](https://youtu.be/G-jMWzfj9gM)_

Yuuri floats in the air, his toes barely brushing the solid ground. The light robe hanging on his body is almost like a second skin, transparent and milk-like.

Bright light seeps in through his half-open lids as he slowly inches forward, soaring without destination. Everything feels strangely transparent, almost weightless, senseless. He is vaguely aware of the others around him, others just like him, wafting aimlessly in the empty space, just as carefree as he is.

Why he is there, Yuuri doesn’t know. To be honest, he isn’t really interested in finding out. Where he comes from, where is he going… It’s all pointless, completely insignificant. What matters is that right now he is comfortable, that this here, whatever it is, is _good._

A shadow steps into his narrow line of vision. Yuuri catches a glimpse of naked skin, a silhouette of a person standing before him. He has barely enough time to react when a bony hand reaches towards him, the pale digits long and grimey.

The person grabs his chin and lifts his face up, and Yuuri shudders at the coldness spreading from the touch, all the way down his neck. Almost involuntarily, his almond eyes flutter wide open.

The man, who reminds Yuuri more of a skeleton than a man, smirks, the faded ebony skin of his face hanging downwards, thin as a paper. He opens his mouth to reveal a row of rotten teeth, golden eyes flashing when he fixes his gaze on Yuuri.

“I see you're awake, darling.”

The man's voice is thick and raspy, not unlike the creak of a rusty nail being pulled out of a moldy plank. Yuuri shivers, the sound resonating deep in his bones. 

The man’s skin seems to repel the light, but his eyes are the opposite, reflecting the space around him so bright the gold almost blends in with the whiteness of it all. Yuuri scans the intense man, trying to understand his identity. But with his head void of thoughts, he can only stare, and let the man stare back.

“I am Thanatos,” the man eventually answers the unvoiced question, tilting his head slightly while his eyes squint at Yuuri. When he receives no answer, he continues, enunciating his words slow and clear.

“But I don't think titles, nor names for the matter, mean much here.”

The man, _Thanatos,_ releases his grip on Yuuri, letting his head fall back down. He steps backwards, and Yuuri can see a pair of massive, dark wings spreading open at his back. All the other people around him have floated ahead past them, only Yuuri being glued to his place, left alone with that man _—Death_. 

“I don't know if you've heard of me, but I have been calling for you for a rather long time now,” Thanatos explains, his voice placid, emotionless. He looks right through Yuuri as if he wasn’t even there, his indifference turning Yuuri's stomach to knots, an unsettling sense of panic sloshing inside him.

“I was awaiting your arrival much, much sooner. But ah, Eros knows how to tempt, that I admit him knowing better than many others. But you, my dear, you were _strong._ You didn’t fall for empty promises, you held onto what you wanted. You followed your own desires, and that’s exactly why I wanted you.”

Thanatos breathes a laugh, and grins. The panic inside Yuuri flares, but he has no way of consoling himself when the Death stares at him, the rooked, rotten teeth in his mouth turning the twisted smile on the decayed face even more appalling. 

“And now, I’ve got you.”

Yuuri swallows. Thanatos's words boom in the open space, echoing against the invisible walls, striking back like church bells hitting straight into Yuuri’s heart, heart that is—

Yuuri looks down at his chest. He blinks once, trying to comprehend what he sees.

Where his heart used to be, now lies a gaping hole. Shivers prickle down Yuuri’s skin when he sees trails of near black blood seeping out of that cut, poorly covered by the transparent fabric of his robes. He swallows, the silence of his missing heartbeat drowning him, filling his pores with blazing dread.

Laughter fills the air. Yuuri lifts his head up, and finds Thanatos looking at him, his golden eyes twinkling as he lifts his balled fist in the air.

Yuuri freezes, shivering when he notices a human heart curled around the bony fingers. Thanatos presses it hard enough that gushes of blood pulsate between the cracks, flowing slowly all the way down his forearm and into the white ground.

Nausea fills Yuuri, and he retches, his body folding as he pulsates from the vain attempt of emptying his stomach. He tears his eyes off what he assumes is his own heart, and turns his pleading eyes to Thanatos, who is still laughing.

Or, at least Yuuri thinks he is the one laughing. He doesn’t see the rotten mouth move, but the sound of the joyous laughter echoes loudly in the vast space.

Yuuri screws his eyes shut, trying to make some sense in the situation. He has to have some purpose, he must have some reason for being here. Something—no, _someone—_ someone is waiting for him.

Who, where?

Yuuri doesn’t know. His thoughts fly haphazardly around him, tickling against his skin, just barely touching him, but moving out of his reach when Yuuri tries to grasp onto them.

“You are dead, Yuuri.”

The silence that follows the statement rings in Yuuri's ears, effectively cutting off his wandering thoughts as if popping soap bubbles. There is a faint echo of an ache in his chest, and Yuuri pales when his eyes fall back onto the gaping hole in his chest, his trembling fingers threading the gooey edge.

Thanatos shifts closer, the sound of his cape brushing against the ground breaking Yuuri out of his internal turmoil. 

“If I am really dead,” he whispers, mouth dry as he brings his eyes to the hollow man in front of him, “then why am I here? It—it doesn't make any sense.”

Yuuri chokes as the words climb up his throat. The lack of interest behind Thanatos' eyes make him doubt his existence, makes him question everything he knows about anything.

“Aren't I—aren't I supposed to stop existing?”

“Maybe,” Thanatos admits, shaking his wings as if he was brushing off droplets of water. The black feathers glisten in the white space, and if Yuuri wasn't in the state he was, he would've admired them a great deal more.

Thanatos continues without a pause, “But then again, nothing is ever set on stone. And when it comes down to it, humans know very little of anything. If I were you, I'd use my energy on accepting my demise instead of wondering what should and shouldn't be possible.”

Tears fill the corners of Yuuri's eyes, the streaks falling down his cheeks when he shakes his head. 

“No, it's not—it _can't_ be…”

He doesn't dare to look into the burning, emotionless gaze any longer, but drops his eyes to his arms. The red lines stare back at him, making his stomach turn upside down. He sees a flash of a bathroom, sees a razor laying on the edge of a bathtub.

“I—I didn’t—” a lump forms in his throat. What has he done? Why does he feel like he’s forgetting something crucial? Why—why is he—

_“Close your eyes my little child, dream a dream of fortune,”_ Thanatos hums an off-key tune quietly, his voice closer than before. Almost involuntarily, Yuuri's eyes close, shaking his head frantically. A cold hand presses on his shoulder, seeping deep inside his skin through the thin, white fabric hanging on his body.

_“Grand it is, and wonderful, that realm of luck and fortune…”_ Thanatos' voice drifts off, but his presence next to Yuuri is even more oppressive than before. Yuuri bites his lip as the bony fingers dig into his flesh, the raspy breath blowing past his ear every bit as chilling as the frostiest winter night.

When Thanatos opens his mouth again, his every word hits Yuuri's consciousness as if the Death was speaking inside his head.

“It was your personal decision to follow me, to devote yourself to me, and for that decision, I am incredibly proud of you. You are important to me, and that is why I am giving you a task.”

Thanatos takes a deep, raspy breath. “You might not like it. In fact, I am quite sure you won’t. But you can take it as a test of sorts, if it makes it easier to accept. But it is my gift to you, to each of my most beloved children.”

Every pore of Yuuri fills with the urge to escape. The all-encompassing emptiness of his surroundings crushes him, forces the brewing anxiety in his stomach to burst. He wants back to wherever it was that he came from, wants it so bad it hurts.

For some reason, he is certain he had something good, something _safe_ to hold onto. Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut tight enough for stars to fill his vision, but he still can't remember but a faint flash of silver, and the distant scent of something musky and warm. 

Yuuri wishes, not for the first time since he woke up, that he could lift off the veil clouding his mind, could force some sense to the whole situation. He rubs his hands together, startled when his trembling fingers brush his cold, swollen skin.

At some point, his pale skin has turned into a purplish grey, his veins dark enough to be mistaken as black. Panicked, Yuuri lifts his eyes at Thanatos, but the Death stares blankly at him before turning away. 

“Don't worry, the swelling is only temporary,” he murmurs, bending down on the white floor, as if to pick something up. Yuuri notices Thanatos' wings dragging on the floor, the burnt edges of the lowest feathers rustling against the surface.

“I wish I could spend more time with you now,” Thanatos stands up, flashing Yuuri what could be interpreted as an apologetic frown. In his bony hands, he is holding a glass tablet and a flower.

“But I must leave. The task I'm giving you, we can discuss the details later.” Thanatos tilts his head, his daunting face splitting into a crooked grin. “Until I return, why don't you come to terms with your death first?”

Yuuri shook his head, a lump in his throat. Thanatos ignores him, his eyes falling to the tablet in his hands.

A swipe of a bony finger, and the tablet lits, emanating a faint, bluish light into the space around them. Golden letters appear on the glass one by one, and Yuuri soon discerns an unfamiliar name on the plate.

Thanatos continues speaking as if the tablet didn't exist. “I, personally, think death is a gift. And maybe it is best if you take it as such too. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? After all, death comes to us all, for you no less than anyone else. So why not choose when you die?”

Death lifts his white eyes to Yuuri, the glow intense as he smiles. “That's what you thought, right?”

A tug at Yuuri's lungs makes him sputter, as the phantom throb of his missing heart squeezes painfully through his chest.

“I—I don’t—”

“Don't take me wrong, my darling, I'm not judging you. Quite the contrary, actually,” Thanatos explains. He tugs the tablet into his robes, spreading his wings with a loud swish. With practiced ease, he rises from the ground, voice louder than ever before as he grants Yuuri one last glance.

“Wake up, _Yuuri.”_

A soundless explosion, and a white mist blankets everything. Yuuri’s eyes fill with water as he lets out a cry, falling to his knees when the burning brightness erupts from his wrists all over his body. The invisible strings holding him up snap in two, all the sound and sensation turning back on as if he had pulled his head up from under the raging ocean waves.

Yuuri inhales sharply, trying to lift his head towards Thanatos to beg him for help, but the creature has already disappeared. All that is left is darkness that pours slowly into the whiteness like black ink into clear water, until there is no light left at all. Yuuri slumps down on the ground, every breath he takes like a gong thumping against his brain, turning it into a porridge-like goo that sends strident rays down his spine.

Why does dying—why does it have to _hurt_ so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to mention I've done almost no research about the mythology or thanatos so if the characterisation feels off that's simply because I made the character up from appearance to personality, only keeping the name and the fact that he's the god of death.
> 
> Also, the way death and dying works in this fic, as well as afterlife and really everything, is made up by me. I've taken inspiration from here and there but yeah, I'm very sorry if it feels stupid or 'unrealistic' or something. Blame my inability to focus on doing even the slightest of research :s


	3. City of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanatos takes Yuuri to the Underworld to give him his memories back.

_Memories flash before my eyes_

_I'm losing time_

_The poison is killing me_

_Taking over_

_White light fades to red_

_As I enter the City of the Dead_

[Eurielle - City of the Dead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bpwXXEKDAg&ab_channel=Eurielle-Topic)

Yuuri can’t exactly tell how long it takes from when he first met Thanatos to where he first has to perform the task given to him, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since he the Death flew away, leaving Yuuri to wallow in the white emptiness.

And for the longest of times, not even a shadow of Thanatos can be seen.

But the empty, misty space doesn't stay that way for long. After Thanatos leaves, the dispersed, swaying souls float back slowly, their sleeping appearances more relaxed than ever before. Yuuri lays on the floor as those lost souls pass by, not having enough energy to lift a finger to greet them.

Unlike when he first arrived in this place he’s started calling ‘the Void’, Yuuri can now hear the quiet whispers of the floating bodies. He wishes he couldn’t, as the words they murmur make no sense, filling the hollow space with a senseless, endless string of murmurs that won’t go away no matter how hard Yuuri tries to cover his ears or scream to drown them out. The voices are ever-present, persistent and distressing.

With time, Yuuri learns to settle his eyes far into the remoteness, focusing on ignoring everything but the throbbing pain in his wrists. By emptying his mind enough, he can almost think it’s the nonexistent wind making the whispering sound, and not the floating army of corpses beside him.

But try as he might, his mind keeps falling back to Thanatos’ words. Yuuri doesn't really want to believe it, but as every sign points to the painstaking truth, he is forced to face reality. Slowly, he tries to accept the fact that he is dead, killed by none other than his own hand.

Lying on the cold ground, Yuuri lets the white emptiness swallow him as a faint ache in his muscles grows more and more intense. Deep sobs gurgle from his throat, and he curls into a fetus position, salty tears streaming down his cold cheeks.

It's the same position Thanatos later finds him. The rustle of his robes against the floor alerts Yuuri, but he doesn't bat an eye, not even when the bare feet of the skeleton of a man enter his vision.

For a long while, neither says a word.

Eventually, Thanatos kneels before Yuuri, the soft feathers of his wings tingling the human's skin when he brushes Yuuri's hair off his forehead as if checking his temperature. The gesture is oddly comforting, and Yuuri stirs, leaning into the boney touch.

“You poor little thing,” Thanatos eventually sighs. Yuuri groans when the cold fingers slip past his face and to the back of his head, the other settling on his waist as Thanatos stands up, picking him up in a bridal carry. 

A woosh of the wings, and they lift off the ground, into the endless, white sky. Yuuri blinks as a bright light invades his vision, his splitting headache dispersing as they rise higher and higher. The bodies floating below them grow smaller, until disappearing completely out of sight, blending into the whiteness as if they never existed in the first place.

Yuuri blinks slowly, unable to keep himself from asking, voice croaked and dry, “Where are we going?”

Thanatos doesn't answer right away. His hold on Yuuri tightens as the air around them tilts. The pull of gravity turns intense, almost unbearable, only to disappear completely the next second. Yuuri is sure if he was still alive, he wouldn't be so for long. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gasps when Thanatos drops to the ground with a booming thud. 

When Yuuri opens his eyes again, what meets his vision is not the Void he had gotten quite familiar with, but instead, he sees an ashen valley surrounded by a black mountain range and a blazing, purple sky. The dark grass surrounding the dusty, swirling roads seems to be smoking, and every step Thanatos takes on the ground sends puffs of charred particles into the sky.

“Welcome to the Underworld,” Thanatos says, gently placing Yuuri onto the warm, harsh ground. The contrast between the Underworld and the Void is like day and night, and Yuuri can't help but ask what the place they came from was.

“It is called Limbo, the space between life and death,” Thanatos' hand stays in Yuuri's waist as he leads them down the serpentine path, steps light and even. “It's where all the lost or banished souls gather.”

Thanatos pauses, and Yuuri nearly stumbles on a spiky rock sticking from the grey soil. The Death balances him, his hold steady as he continues with a hint of enthusiasm in his voice.

“In fortunate cases, like yours, I will come to save the poor soul and offer them a chance for a fresh start. It's part of the beauty of Limbo, as you'll never know which souls will stick and which will be… salvaged.”

Yuuri swallows, a shiver running through his body. “What about the unfortunate cases?”

Thanatos' lip curls upwards. “Most times, the souls in Limbo will stay there until the end of ages and beyond. But don't worry, the souls hardly have enough mind to be aware of their situation. There’s no use feeling sorry for them.”

Yuuri shudders but continues walking in silence. His eyes itch as the smell of smoke and burning flesh turns them red and swollen. The image of the drifting souls in Limbo flashes in his mind, and he tries hard to focus on the road to not fall into hysterics.

Thanatos lifts his hand to rest on Yuuri's shoulder, squeezing tightly while his heavy wings rustle behind them, shielding them from the dust pieces spiralling down from the sky. Yuuri takes a deep breath, his lungs filling with the heavy air.

A lake emerges from between the pointed hills. The striking, purple waves stand out from between the grey grass and stoney, barren shore like glow-worms during nighttime. Yuuri is sure he sees something move below the surface, but they have already passed the lake before he can recognise what it is.

Thanatos stops in front of a little cottage resting under a black tree rising from a hilltop. The branches reach out to the skies above the cottage in swirls, the smoking leaves shielding the building from the blazing, purple sky. Yuuri is almost certain he's never seen anything quite like it, the vibrant colours and the striking scent of burning wood in the air mesmerising him.

Thanatos presses his bony hand on the heavy doorknob, twisting it before giving the human a curious glance behind his shoulder. Yuuri startles, realising he has stopped walking to admire the drooping branches swaying in the mellow breeze.

“Come on, Yuuri. It's high time I give back your memories,” Thanatos' golden eyes flame, and a doubtful feeling rises up Yuuri’s throat when he follows the Death inside the cabin. Sweat oozes from his hands as he rubs them together, wanting desperately to run. But the need to get his memories back forces him to step inside. 

Thanatos hums a tune, the door behind them closing with a clunk as they step inside the dimly lit, spacious room. Yuuri squints at the sudden darkness, but Thanatos only has to flick his fingers to light the tiny, blue candles on the brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

The room, although not lacking in size, is filled with mismatched furniture and towering piles of books, quills and rolls of parchment. A few jars of suspicious-looking liquids stand on the crooked shelves by the opposite wall, and Yuuri nearly grimaces when he spots what looks to be a string made of human teeth amidst the dozens of books.

“Now, there is one condition you must accept before getting back your memories,” Thanatos says, having turned towards a row of cupboards on the other side of the room, bending before a particularly sturdy one. His enormous wings brush the ceiling as he crouches, and Yuuri has to dodge to prevent getting knocked down by the wiggly feathers. The chandelier clanks as the wings hit it, and Yuuri gulps when he notices a few feathers smoking from the impact. 

“W—what condition?” he asks, a bit afraid of the answer. Thanatos shakes his wings, his voice sugary as he speaks.

“To accept the gift, the task I’m offering you.”

Yuuri's stomach drops as the Death continues to rummage through the cupboards, throwing empty vials and pieces of parchment out of the way. When he finds what he is looking for, he snickers, turning to Yuuri with a grin on his face. In his hands, he holds a small pair of golden scissors.

Yuuri swallows, blinking at the light reflecting from the key as Thanatos rolls it between his fingers. It is as if someone has poured tar inside Yuuri's throat, and he finds it hard to speak when he asks, “What if I refuse?”

“Then I will throw you back in Limbo,” Thanatos states emotionlessly before turning to the small door hidden between the rows of shelves, pushing a tiny table filled with glass jars out of the way. “Doesn't really matter to me, although I have to admit it's a pity if you choose damnation over the chance to live.”

Thanatos opens the small door, and Yuuri follows him inside, a sinking weight in his stomach. They step inside a greenhouse of sorts, filled to the brim with a variety of plants and flowers. Contrary to the one they came from, this room is bright, like the ceiling didn't exist and the sun could seep in freely. 

Thanatos strokes the leaves of the plants as he walks down the rows of pots, a smile never leaving his face. He stops by the third row and squats down, picking a tiny pot with a fragile flower sticking out of the dark mud. 

“You’ll become a grim reaper. Or a shinigami if you may,” he explains, caressing the cyan petals with a delicate touch. “You didn’t appreciate your own life, so now you will witness death until the end of times. A fitting punishment for someone so careless…”

“But you told me,” Yuuri whispers, his eyes falling on his shivering hands, the temperature in the room dropping as he swallows. He clutches onto his white robes, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he tries to keep his breath steady. “You told me the task is a gift.”

Thanatos sighs, snipping a bud from the flower with the scissors, holding it carefully in his hand while tugging the pot away. “You will understand one day. But I want you to concentrate on your job and stop worrying about insignificant details.”

Yuuri's head swims, his legs heavy as he trembles, leaning against the doorframe. Thanatos crosses the room before stopping in front of him, and Yuuri can smell rotten flesh when he opens his mouth.

“Now, if you may…”

Yuuri flinches when Thanatos grabs his chin, forcing his mouth open. The bony fingers freeze Yuuri's lips as Thanatos pushes the flower bud inside his mouth, pressing Yuuri's jaws together with a smug grin on his lifeless face. 

“Eat it. I'll come to catch you after you remember who you are and what you've done.”

Yuuri's eyes roll in his head, his muscles clenching as he bites down on the flower. Sticky, hot liquid fills his mouth, and almost involuntarily, Yuuri swallows it. His vision blurs, a ringing in his ears mixing with the haunting laughter as Thanatos pushes him to the ground.

The world tilts, and Yuuri screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little garden Thanatos has is inspired by the painting '[The Garden of Death](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Garden_of_Death)' by Hugo Simberg.
> 
> As Thanatos is the God of Death, his garden grows the souls and memories of his grim reapers, as they are the only souls he gets to handle. Otherwise, all dead are Hades' problem. And Thanatos can only pick souls to his garden from Limbo, and only use those souls to help him perform his duties as Death.
> 
> I'd like to think Hades has a garden for souls too, but I also like the idea of him managing this huge ass archive for souls and stressing over it. Both ideas are nice, I'm glad I don't have to elaborate anything in this fic since it doesn't include him :'D


	4. S.O.S. d'un terrien en détresse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri tries to come to terms with his own death, and collects his first soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder to heed the tags, this chapter contains death.

_ Au grand loto de l'univers, j'ai pas tiré le bon numéro _

_ J'suis mal dans ma peau _

_ J'ai pas envie d'être un robot, métro boulot dodo _

_ [Daniel Balavoine - S.O.S. d'un terrien en détresse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilrYhXIf5yg&ab_channel=DanielBalavoine-Topic) _

Yuuri sits on the shore of the Lake of Death, staring at the black swans floating in the distance with glassy eyes. His white robes have already turned grey from the endless smoke of the Underworld, but he can't bring himself to care.

There are others like him, crawling in the dusty fields of grass or hiding in the numerous, labyrinthine caves of the endless mountains. A few have approached Yuuri but left after getting no reply from the withered man. 

Thanatos has given him a year to settle his feelings, but Yuuri almost wishes he had thrown him straight back to Limbo instead. What use is there to have feelings, if all they do is remind him of the failures of his past? 

Yuuri tries to avoid thinking of the ugly truth of his own death, but the memories Thanatos gave him are painfully lucid. From the moment he entered kindergarten to where he first put on his skates, from the earliest hours of his childhood to the last breath before his death, Yuuri remembers everything, everyone, every single insignificant moment.

But while it is nearing the time Thanatos will come back to him, Yuuri still can't bring himself to speak out his beloved husband's name without falling apart. The last time he recalled the lazy mornings lying in the bed with strawberry kisses, he collapsed on the shore, nearly washing away with the purple waves, unable to move a limb, nor really wanting to. 

When he'd regained his strength back, he had crawled straight into the icy waves, his missing heart aching as he let the depths slowly consume him.

He stayed underwater long enough to realise the pain never went away, the memories even more vibrant and alive under the waves where everything was quiet and intense. 

It didn't take Yuuri long to realise he can't die. Not without Thanatos’ permission.

And so he eventually washed back up on the shore, lungs filled with water and mind with heart-shaped smiles. 

It is as if by ending his life, Yuuri has doomed himself to live forever. And yet, the pain he wanted so desperately to escape from is still there.

Only this time, it never leaves him alone. There isn't anyone to soothe him, not a single moment of peace as his mind continues to torture him with the knowledge that this time, there is nothing to help him out of his misery.

“I see you like my swans.”

Yuuri doesn't have to lift his eyes off the purple waves to know Thanatos has returned. He opens his mouth, voice raspy from having spent months without uttering a word.

“Has it been a year already?”

There is a ruffling of robes, and Yuuri's vision is blocked by the winged creature. He sighs, lifting his eyes towards the Death, already tired of the grin on the skeleton face. 

“Come with me. Your first soul is just about ready to be collected,” Thanatos offers Yuuri his hand, and the human takes it with a dejected feeling in his stomach.

They rise to the skies and break through the surface of Earth before falling on wet pavement. Yuuri staggers to the ground, skin scratching on the asphalt as the heavy rain falls upon him. But for some reason, he stays dry, his white robes turned spotless while the huge droplets keep hammering against him.

Thanatos falls gracefully from the sky, settling on the edge of the sidewalk with a brush of his wings. His golden eyes glow through the thick wall of rain, reminding Yuuri of the yellow traffic lights in the distance. 

“You see that boy over there?” Thanatos points his chin at a small, maybe ten years old boy on the other side of the road. Yuuri squints at the direction, rubbing his scraped skin while blinking rapidly in the downpour.

The boy Thanatos spoke of is balancing himself on the edge of the pavement, the red school bag on his back a stark contrast against his blue raincoat. The road is sparse, with barely any cars passing by. Yuuri can hear the splash of the boy's steps as he hops from one foot to the other, his swaying arms spread wide to keep him balanced. 

“He is on his way home from school,” Thanatos explains, his fingers pressing onto Yuuri's shoulders as he drags him closer to the boy. Yuuri flinches when they step on the road just as a car speeds past. Thanatos doesn't even blink as he guides Yuuri right towards it, not even a feather on his back shifting as the car gets closer and closer. 

Yuuri closes his eyes, preparing for the impact, but it never comes. Instead, he doesn't feel a thing as the car speeds through the two of them, doesn't even realise to open his eyes until he stands safe and secure on the other side of the road.

He barely gets a chance to calm himself from the pointless fright when Thanatos opens his mouth, pushing Yuuri closer to the boy, who is now nearing an intersection. 

“The next car is going to hit him.”

Yuuri's eyes widen as they pass the boy. He turns to look at Death but is ignored. 

“B—but why!? He can't be older than ten!”

Thanatos laughs, stopping when they reach the lights. His white eyes twinkle as he reaches into his robes, taking out a familiar glass tablet. Only this one glows green, and the name on it is written on silver. Yuuri's stomach drops when he reads the letters, an ominous feeling rising up his throat.

“I don't want to be here.”

“I'm afraid you don't have a choice, darling,” Thanatos snickers, pushing the tablet onto Yuuri's hands. “Unless you want me to take your memories and throw you back in Limbo. I  _ could _ easily grant you another year to put yourself together, but in that case, you'd have to kiss your memories goodbye.”

The words hit Yuuri hard, and he has to swallow back tears. It is unfair, how he is told he has a chance when in reality, there isn't one. He wants death, but the thought of drifting mindlessly in the Limbo is enough to make him hesitate.

“See, I'm not forcing you into anything,” Thanatos explains, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “It's your choice, I'm only giving you a chance that's all. It's up to you whether you take it or not.”

Yuuri shakes his head, clutching onto the glass tablet with all his strength. Thanatos sighs, not even trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I don't care if taking a child's soul makes you uncomfortable. But after you finish collecting that soul, you will be a grim reaper until I say otherwise. And as a grim reaper, you will collect numerous souls, regardless of age or how much they don't deserve to die.”

Yuuri purses his lips together. Thanatos' eyes darken, his voice dropping as he speaks in a tone colder than a long-forgotten grave, “If you don't want to take that boy's soul, then so be it. But if no one collects him, his soul is doomed to wander in Limbo forever. If that happens, even I will be unable to save him from eternal damnation.”

For a moment, only the sound of the rain hitting the pavement can be heard. Yuuri shivers, a waft of musky scent floating to his nose as a brush of silver flashes in his vision.

“Whatever it is you'll do, better make your decision quickly. The car is here.”

Yuuri snaps his head towards the road, the chills in his body increasing tenfold as he spots the truck speeding down the street. He squeezes the tablet in his hands, biting his tongue as he sees the boy slip, sees his tiny body twist as he falls headfirst onto the wet asphalt.

For a moment, time slows down. Yuuri screws his eyes shut, nausea pooling in his stomach as the truck tires screech on the wet pavement. He presses his hands to his ears, but nothing can prevent him from hearing the chilling sound of the child screaming as his bones crack on the impact. 

“He isn't dead yet,” Thanatos notifies with a tone he could use for discussing the weather. Yuuri shudders, tears falling down his face, mixing in with the freezing water as he falls to his knees.

He wants to scream, but no sound escapes his gaping mouth. His eyes blur as the boy twitches in the ground, thrown almost ten meters to the side by the force of the hit. A dark pool of blood mixes in with the water underneath his tiny body, painting a grim sight on the almost empty, grey street.

Yuuri sobs as he crawls to the boy’s side, tremors running through his body when the child coughs out thick gushes of blood. Reaching his hand to the smooth face, Yuuri's fingers touch the soft flesh of the boy's still warm cheeks.

“It is time.”

The boy's tiny mouth falls open, and Yuuri trembles, eyes fixed on the terrifying sight. Blood drips down the child’s chin, his green eyes glossy as he struggles to draw in his last breath.

Yuuri swallows, the moment the boy dies engraving deep in his bones. A shimmering, tiny pearl of greenish light escapes from the boy’s throat, rising to the air in smoking swirls. Yuuri catches it inside his trembling palms. The soul weighs a lot despite its small size, the surface smooth looking to be transparent.

A flash of light nearly sends Yuuri on his back, but he manages to steady himself as the scene in front of him tilts. For the span of the following two or so minutes, Yuuri witnesses the boy’s entire life in all its shortness. In quick flashes, he follows the boy's journey through the maternity ward all the way to the rainy Tuesday noon he left a bit early from school. 

The boy reminds Yuuri of Yuuko, his friend from Japan. She is like the sun, always laughing and joking around, making others around her join in her happiness, much like the boy in his arms.

And yet, this boy is only two months shy from eleven when his life is taken from him, all for one careless misstep.

Yuuri is crying openly by the time the flashback ends. The rain continues to fall steadily around them as the boy's fragile body in his arms grows heavier and heavier by every second. 

“Use this to secure the soul,” Thanatos offers Yuuri a glass vial, just about big enough to fit the soul inside. Yuuri pushes the heavy, smoking pearl inside with shaking hands, a whimper leaving his throat when his fingers leave a bloody smudge on the mouth of the vial. 

Thanatos hums as he seals the vial with a glass cork, his movements delicate but firm as he screws it shut tight. Yuuri stares at the soul glistening inside the vial, a swirl of complicated emotions fighting inside him.

When he returns back to the Underworld, the first thing Yuuri does is to fall on all fours, retching loudly. While his stomach screams and lungs burn, nothing comes out of his mouth. His fingers dig into the soft, ashen ground, the dirt getting under his nails as his body convulses.

Thanatos flicks his sleeves, unbothered by the coughing man on the dusty ground. He steps over Yuuri, tugging the glass vial in his robes while eyeing the lake of Death with mild interest.

“Well, how did you like my little task?”

Yuuri lifts his head from the ground, holding onto his rummaging stomach. Thanatos stares back at him, his head tilted and eyes empty. 

“W—why, why do I—” Yuuri can still see the little boy in his mind, can see all the colour and life drain out of his tiny, plump face that once had held all the hope in the world inside.

“You're free to give up on all the souls I send to your book of demise. But know that for every soul abandoned by your incompetence, I steal years from your own reincarnation, up to the point where there is no life left for you to live.”

Thanatos pats Yuuri's head clumsily, the bony fingers hurting more than comforting. “You've seen Limbo. You know what it is like to forget, to slowly lose yourself into the emptiness. Surely you don't wish that for anyone?”

“But it's not all that bad, as no good deed should go unrewarded,” Thanatos offers Yuuri the tablet, the book of demise, a reminder of his position in the Underworld. Yuuri takes it with trembling hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than all the world's sins.

“Perform well, and I will give you a chance to reincarnate. Perform flawlessly, and I'll let you see Viktor.”

Yuuri draws in a sharp breath, snapping his head back to Thanatos. His eyes fill with tears, his breath scattered as he gives Death a pleading look, but the winged man only grins at him, rotten teeth glistening with smug satisfaction.

“Keep an eye on your book of demise, grim reaper.”

Thanatos turns to leave. Something inside Yuuri snaps, and gurgling cries tear out of his throat as he curls into a ball on the ground, unimaginable pain piercing through his entire body as he shakes uncontrollably.

Far in the distance, the black swans rise from the lake of Death, flying in circles above the mourning man, filling the air with an eerie song.


	5. For the Departed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri collects more souls and makes a revelation. Years pass, and it's time for him to collect Viktor's soul.

_ And so the scene begins _

_ Your cries become the wind _

_ A desperate plea best left unheard _

_ Then my contrived goodbye _

_ A poet's pantomime _

_ A drunken jester's final words _ __

_ [Shayfer James - For the Departed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4MZTU1-_bw&ab_channel=ShayferJames-Topic) _

  
  


No matter how much Yuuri tries to mentally prepare himself, he knows deep down he'll never grow used to collecting souls. There is something gut-wrenching in witnessing people draw their last breath, too often alone with no one to offer them any sort of comfort.

Sometimes Yuuri wonders if Thanatos deliberately assigns him the most devastating cases, from infantile deaths to all kinds of horrendous accidents. Every time a child's soul falls into his hands, Yuuri is reduced to a sobbing mess, barely making it back to Underworld in one piece.

He tries to bite his tongue and persevere, but it's hard with barely having enough time to take a breath between souls. He knows he puts way too much energy and emotion into the dying people, cares too much when he sees a recollection of their lives.

It takes several weeks of the emotional torture before Yuuri is convinced his own mind is too weak to handle the task of a shinigami. He sits in a corner under a burnt cork tree, eyeing the others like him lurking around the Underworld, his dark bangs shielding his vision. He can feel them mocking him with their empty eyes, as he shivers on the ground after yet another poorly fulfilled task. 

He tries to pay them no mind, tries to focus on reaping souls as if he couldn't hear the cold snickering behind his back, couldn't sense the schadenfreude of the older residents. But it's hard to ignore the whispered bets on how long it'll take until he collapses, impossible to brush off the burning eyes plastered to his back.

Months later, when Yuuri is already on the brink of losing his mind, he receives a task that changes his approach on what exactly being a grim reaper means.

The notion of a new job comes with the tell-tale vibrations of the book of demise in his pocket. With a heavy heart, Yuuri picks the tablet and waits for the letters to appear on the glass surface. He is vaguely interested in the light golden glow, as he has never seen the colour on the tablet before.

Yuuri reads the name and brushes his grey, gaunt fingers over the letters, letting the golden light pierce through him and absorb him above the surface of Earth.

He arrives into what looks to be a parlour in some sort of a nursing home. The facility is bright, the sun shining in through the huge windows making the cosy furniture even more inviting.

There is only one person in the room, an elderly lady. She sits in a wheelchair by the window, her pink, woollen socks brushing against the glass. Her faded, brown eyes gaze into the garden in the courtyard, thin lips twitching as she mutters voiceless words into the air. 

Yuuri inches closer, taking in the woman's complexion. Her long hair is almost completely grey, the thick braid falling from her shoulder all the way to rest in her lap. Her wrinkled hands are pressed together, thumb circling over the golden ring on her left hand.

Yuuri brushes a stray hair from her cheek, a tranquil sense of peace settling to his mind for the first time since his death. There is something comforting in the woman's presence as if she knew her end was near and was ready for it, having lived a fulfilling life.

The wrinkles on her face deepen when Yuuri's fingers touch her skin. Yuuri flinches as the woman lifts her head, and then, their eyes meet. For a moment, Yuuri feels the ghost of his heart skips a beat.

“You—you can see me?” his voice quivers, fingers curling as he withdraws his hand from her face. 

The woman's eyes widen, and she nods, mouth hanging open as she drinks in Yuuri's figure from head to toes. The shinigami doesn't know how to act, smoothing the fabric of his white robes in a vain attempt to give out a more professional feel. The woman stays still for a moment before her entire being relaxes, and she sinks into her wheelchair with a smile on her face.

“I'm going to die, aren't I?”

Yuuri doesn't know how to answer. The woman stares at him for a while, until her expression turns serene, eyes falling to the flowers outside, basking in the sun. 

“It is a good thing I get to see the peonies bloom one last time.”

There isn't a hint of sorrow in her tone, only a sliver of childlike wonder. Yuuri swallows, knowing that the woman is only going to be alive for mere seconds now. 

She closes her eyes, letting the sun's warmth envelop her completely as she takes in a deep breath, her body sagging on the wheelchair as a golden, bright soul emerges from her mouth. Yuuri is so mesmerized by the scene, he almost doesn't catch the soul in time before it slips past his range.

He scoops it in his hands with all the care but stops just before dropping it in the glass vial. Unlike all the other souls he's come in touch with, this one is as light as a feather. The golden swirls are reflected in Yuuri's whitened eyes, and he gently lets it drop inside the vial. 

All the way back to the Underworld, Yuuri's mind is filled with the elderly woman and her weightless soul. There is an unfamiliar sense of excitement boiling in his stomach when he wonders if there is a connection between the soul's weight and the human's ability to communicate with him.

As he steps on the smoky soil, his first instinct is to find Thanatos to ask him if such things are possible. But the Death isn't someone a mere grim reaper like him can just walk up to and find whenever needed, which leaves Yuuri walking back and forth around the ragged hills, trying to find a creature with enough knowledge to satisfy his curiosity. 

But no matter how he tries, none of the other grim reapers seem interested in discussing the matter of souls and communication with humans with him. The only thing he achieves from probing is getting the creatures of the Underworld to leave him alone, the jeering and mockery seizing in an instant. 

Too soon, the time to collect the next soul arrives. Yuuri anticipates the work more than he has ever before, but the disappointment after receiving another heavy, unaware soul is crushing.

After a few similar souls, Yuuri settles into a routine of sorts. He concentrates fully on each individual dying person as the name on his tablet changes, not giving any thoughts to who is next or what has happened before. He no longer lets himself break down over even the most distressing of cases, choosing to focus on the possibility of communication between him and his harvest.

Slowly, his days blend together. Weeks pass, months roll by, and soon Yuuri isn't sure how long he's been dead. The second anniversary of his death comes and passes unnoticed, his life settling into a repetitive routine.

There are still moments, during every tiny break he gets, where the emptiness fills with flashes of silver. The lump in Yuuri’s throat suffocates him every time he closes his eyes and sees the familiar, worried face, sees the set of sparkling blue eyes and hears the comforting, deep voice.

To his horror, Yuuri sometimes catches himself wishing the memories would fade so he could get a moment of peace. He is almost certain Thanatos is the one behind making them so clear and life-like, to both remind him of his duties and tempt him into mistakes.

He brushes the thoughts to the back of his head and focuses on being a grim reaper.

And so, years pass and Yuuri evolves from a dead human into a skeleton-like figure, his presence strong enough to rival even the oldest residents of the Underworld.

When Thanatos returns to him, Yuuri has almost forgotten he was ever supposed to come back at all. The winged man emerges from thin air one stagnant evening, sitting down under the cork tree Yuuri has taken as his spot.

“I see you're doing well.”

Yuuri lifts his head up from between his knees, his pale skin hanging on his face as thin as rice paper. Thanatos smiles, brushing dust off Yuuri's shoulders. The air is filled with electricity, the never-ending pieces of ash floating in the air crackling with the promise of an oncoming storm.

Thanatos looks around the hills, his golden eyes relaxed when he asks, “Do you think you're ready?”

Yuuri isn't sure if he'll ever be ready. He has spent too many years clinging onto memories, has seen too many stories and witnessed far too many deaths, he isn't sure what point there is to anything. And deep inside, he is afraid that when the moment comes, he won't know what to do.

But yet, he nods. If there is something he wants more than to meet Viktor, it is death. Real, actual and final death, the one he’s wanted for all his life, both the one before his death and the one after. He never asked to be this immortal entity and doesn’t wish to be one any longer than needed.

Thanatos smiles. “Good! But well, there is one tiny thing you should know, a minor,  _ change of plans, _ if you may. You see, once you bring me Viktor’s soul, I have another one for you to collect. A few, actually.”

Yuuri nods, eyeing the book of demise in his hands with a speck of curiosity. It takes a moment before the meaning behind the statement gets to him. He freezes, almost cracking the glass as he inhales sharply, his head snapping to Thanatos.

The Death grins at him. A sense of disgust fills Yuuri when dark putrid falls out between the sharp, rotten teeth. The air of the underworld fills with the scent of rotting flesh, and Yuuri has to bite his tongue so he won't visibly shudder.

“I never promised you two would enter the second life together,” Thanatos snickers, the black wings shaking from the joyful tremors running through his body. Yuuri stares at him, blood boiling as he tries to resist punching the Death in the face.

“I see you’re not pleased with this knowledge. Well, there’s always another option; just choose not to collect his soul. Let him vanish into Limbo.”

“Why would I  _ ever  _ choose that?”

Thanatos' grin widens, his wings fluttering as his entire being shivers with excitement. “Because if you do, I will grant you your precious reincarnation, and I will grant Viktor a chance to stay by my side. He would make a perfect shinigami, don't you think?”

Yuuri closes his eyes, clutching onto the book of demise while gritting his teeth. “But you—you told me—”

“Did I? Well, it doesn’t matter even if I did,” Thanatos shrugs, “Because I’m not planning on giving up on such a fine grim reaper just yet. And I don't really care what it takes to extend your time here.”

Yuuri fumes, his white robes fluttering around him as a blue halo erupts around him, getting more intense as he grits his teeth, even the ground quacking from the sheer force of his anger.

“Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just let us die together as you promised?” Yuuri's voice shakes, hands clamping the hem of his robes, an ugly expression on his face. “Haven't I done enough for you already!?”

Thanatos laughs, the sound booming in the air like thunder, and the purple sky fills with dark, black clouds. “Why, you ask me?”

He sneers, poisonous words dripping from his mouth, “Why else but because it's funnier that way! Besides, if you look at my other children, they have all stayed in my service for centuries, if not more. So really, you're being way too arrogant, acting as if I owe you anything.”

Without listening to another word, Yuuri flips the book of demise in his hands and presses his fingers on the silvery name. With a face blinded by fury, he rises above the surface of the Earth, leaving behind the laughing man.

He opens his eyes with a gasp, the anger boiling inside him like a raging fire. He bites back tears, catching his breath before turning around. 

A mansion towers before his eyes, surrounded by a grand, flourishing garden. Yuuri takes a hesitant step on the green grass, breathing in the flowery scent. Birds chirp in the distance, and he hears water ripple somewhere between the trees and bushes.

Yuuri extends his hand when a swallowtail butterfly flutters by. The fragile wing brushes his fingertips, and Yuuri's eyes widen, an electric shock running up his forearm.

Snapping out of the trance he fell into, Yuuri turns towards the mansion, almost planting on his face as his steps turn into a sprint. He dashes through the garden, runs up the stone stairs leading to the dark, wooden backdoors. He doesn’t bother opening them, just slips in through the wall, runs through the mansion without taking a second look around him.

Having collected souls for decades, Yuuri has had enough time to picture how his reunion with Viktor will go. But there is nothing that could've prepared him for what awaits him as he pushes open the door to Viktor's bedroom. 

Yuuri’s beloved is lying on a four-poster bed, tucked under several layers of silk duvets. A sound escapes Yuuri's throat, and he takes a shaky step closer, his white robe fluttering around him when he extends his hand to gently move the white curtain aside.

Viktor, to put it kindly, has grown old. It’s a fact that shouldn’t shock Yuuri, but it still makes him freeze, makes the heartless hole in his chest jolt painfully. The frail man sleeps peacefully under the thick duvet, the steady, faint flow of his fragile breath the only sound in the room.

A sliver of light seeps in from the closed windows, just barely illuminating the wrinkled face. As Yuuri steps closer, his own bluish halo illuminates the bed, enhancing Viktor's aged features inside an eerie bubble.

Viktor's bare chest rises and falls slowly as he draws in his last breaths as a living being. Yuuri smiles and lowers himself to sit next to the old man. His bony hands stroke Viktor’s thin hair, not able to touch him yet. He laughs wetly when he sees Viktor’s hairline has receded, reminding him of his adoptive father.

Yuuri takes his time absorbing every detail of Viktor he can, saving them deep inside his mind where he holds all the dearest of his memories. He strokes the sleeping man's face, humming a soft tune while waiting for the inevitable. 

There are many things he wants to tell Viktor, starting from how sorry he is and how much he still loves him, how he always will.

This way is better, Yuuri thinks. Now he gets to see his beloved, gets to be here to make sure he will pass away peacefully. The words he has to say, no time on Earth could be enough for them anyways.

Yuuri's fingers play on Viktor’s hair, his fingers trembling along with the rest of his body. 

Viktor coughs. The sound echoes in the silent room, and Yuuri shivers. The shadow of Viktor’s soul begins to rise from his chest, ready to be collected in mere seconds.

Yuuri’s face falls down, and Viktor opens his eyes.

Their eyes meet, both wearing looks of bewildered disbelief in their faces. Viktor opens his mouth to say something, and Yuuri surges forward. But it is too late already. By the time Yuuri manages to wrap his hands around Viktor, the man is already gone.

Yuuri can’t stop himself from shaking and takes Viktor’s glimmering, colourful soul inside his trembling palms with a heavy heart.

He barely has time to register how light the soul is in his hands as bright light encompasses him, and Yuuri gasps as he is absorbed into Viktor's memories.


	6. Immortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri goes through the most important scenes in Viktor's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW: this chapter contains indications of child abuse and domestic violence.**  
>  I've updated the tags since I forgot to tag it before, for which I apologise.

_ I'm forever chasing after time _

_ But everybody dies, dies _

_ If I could buy forever at a price _

_ I would buy it twice, twice  _

_ [MARINA - Immortal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYGKxxTXqSs&ab_channel=MARINA) _

  
  


“Shut your fucking mouth! Don’t you see the child is still here!? You  _ idiot!” _

Young Viktor clutches tighter onto the teddy bear in his hands, curling into himself, trying to be as small as possible. The adults cast sideways glances at his way, the scent of cigarettes and wine wafting thick in the living room. Viktor’s mother curses, the clack of her flip flops echoing on the parquet when she walks over to wrap the boy in her arms, pressing his face onto her bony chest.

Yuuri sees the scene unfolding in front of him with misty eyes. During all the years he knew Viktor, he never knew his husband's childhood had been like this. Or maybe he hadn’t even asked, or bothered probing when Viktor had brushed it as ‘normal’.

“Sleep now, Vitya.” Yuuri watches Viktor’s mother tug him under the covers and kiss him goodnight. He can almost taste the booze reeking between her teeth, poorly veiled with the heavy perfume lingering on her body.

Viktor's tiny nose turns up, but he doesn't say a word. His mother smiles, brushing his silvery hair behind his ears. Yuuri swallows when the light seeping in through the corridor enlightens the dark, purplish bruises peppered all the way down her thin forearm.

Her voice is raspy when she whispers, “Tomorrow we’ll go ice skating, okay honey? Just you and mommy. Doesn't it sound nice, Vitya? Mommy will take you skating if you'll be a good boy and sleep well, okay?”

Viktor nods slowly. His mother’s smile is forced when she presses one last kiss between his eyebrows before leaving the room. As she closes the door behind her, darkness engulfs the room. Viktor shudders, wide-eyed as he stares into the room as if hoping his mother would come back.

But she never does return. Instead, the whispered hisses in the living room start gaining more and more volume, and Viktor's breath hitches in his throat. Yuuri tries to move next to him when he sees his lower lip tremble, but the scene changes just when the boy buries himself under his blanket to muffle out his quiet whimpers.

Bright light burns Yuuri’s eyes, and he feels like his dead heart can’t take any more of Viktor, can’t handle going through his whole life like this. If he’d only gotten a chance to say goodbye...

He hears a familiar giggle and turns around just in time to see a ten-year-old Viktor hopping over a fence, an angry neighbour following in his tail, throwing curses at him while shaking a rusty rake over his head. Viktor looks much livelier now as he dashes through the gardens, even though Yuuri notices he is still way too thin for a boy his age. But seeing him smile so wide, seeing the joy of youth is enough to reassure Yuuri that it wasn’t all too bad for his lover.

The scene changes and Yuuri's stomach lurches when he sees his younger self staring at him with bright eyes. It takes a moment for him to realise they’re in high school, and that this must be the first time the two of them met. A strange warmth bubbles inside of Yuuri, something he hasn’t felt in ages.

“I’m so sorry!” his younger self squeaks, his shoulders hunched as he trembles before Viktor's tall figure. “I ruined your shirt, I’m—I can wash it! No—I’ll buy you a new one, I can—”

Viktor’s laugh is a little breathless when he smiles at the younger Yuuri, his blue eyes twinkling as he shakes his head. “It’s okay, how about you buy me a coffee and it’s settled, hm?”

Did Yuuri really look like that back then? It’s been so many years, he can’t even remember. But seeing his round face light up as the scene fades away, Yuuri wonders if he was ever as ugly as he felt. After all, Viktor  _ did  _ end up falling in love with him, even going as far as to marry him.

Yuuri sees his younger self in one scene after another, all glimpses taken of Viktor’s life. It tugs at his heartstrings in an inexplicably painful way, to know that after meeting him, Viktor’s every single most important moment was shared with him.

It makes something terrifying surge down Yuuri's insides, and he has to fight to keep himself collected enough to continue his task. 

“I don’t know if I really want to die, to be honest,” Yuuri hears his younger self whisper, his voice fragile, holding deep fatigue in it. “But I don’t really want to live either, you know. If I could just, stop existing…”

Viktor is silent. His silvery hair frames his face, hiding his expression from Yuuri. There is tension in his muscles, his knuckles white from clamping hard on his thighs. 

The present Yuuri wants to tear his eyes away when he sees Viktor’s trembling hands wrap around younger Yuuri’s skin as he pulls him closer to his chest. From this angle, Yuuri can clearly see the worry and desperation inside the blue eyes, can see how deep Yuuri’s words cut into Viktor’s skin.

Yuuri feels ashamed, disgusting and so utterly, deeply  _ filthy. _

He watches with burning eyes as his younger self presses his face on the crook of Viktor’s neck, sighing somewhat strainedly. “Vitya, I don’t honestly know what I’d do without you…”

“I love you,” is what Viktor eventually says, “I love you so,  _ so  _ very much, Yuuri…”

Yuuri tears his eyes off just in time for the scene to change.

Their wedding is every bit as beautiful as Yuuri remembers. The melancholia in his chest increases when he sees all the familiar faces he pushed to the back of his mind for so long. The joy, the pure love floating everywhere in the air is intoxicating. Yuuri absorbs every scene that comes after that, relishes in the ordinary, daily life of him and Viktor cuddling on the couch, making food and walking outside with Makkachin. It all looks so harmonious, so painfully happy and full of life.

And then, Yuuri sees their dim bedroom, sees the bathroom door emerging in front of his vision, and suddenly he wishes he could stop looking at the memories.

But he can’t. And so he has to watch as Viktor steps closer to the bathroom, rubbing the sleepiness off his eyes as he reaches out for the door. Yuuri swallows when Viktor tries the lock but it doesn’t open. His limbs grow stiff when he sees Viktor’s face furrows into a frown, and he struggles to breathe when he sees the gears turn in his head.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s whisper echoes clear and bright in the room, husky from having just woken up. Yuuri drops onto his knees on the floor, his body refusing to keep itself up when he sees the panic inside Viktor’s eyes increase as seconds pass without an answer.

Soon enough Viktor is banging the door, trying his best to force his way through the lock as he screams Yuuri’s name again and again. He’s clearly trying to hold control over the rising panic inside of him, but when Makkachin trots to his side and begins barking along with his screams, the sobs escape without Viktor even noticing.

Yuuri cries openly as he watches his beloved pick up his phone and calls the police, sobs silently when he sees the desperation in the tall man as he calls out Yuuri’s name until his voice runs out. But still, nothing could prepare Yuuri for the sheer force of the pain that flashes in his chest when the door is finally opened, and Viktor comes face to face with Yuuri’s body.

The cry that tears out of Viktor's throat will forever be embedded in Yuuri's mind.

With his whole body shaking, Yuuri cries out for Viktor, as Viktor, in turn, screams for Yuuri. But the scene changes and Yuuri is left torn and broken, scolding himself for being reckless enough to cause such an unfair amount of pain for his beloved.

Yuuri has to stand a silent witness as Viktor goes through the mess Yuuri’s death left behind. He feels a grim flash of humour when he attends his own funeral, a moment so fleeting he can almost pretend it didn’t happen. But looking how completely broken Viktor is, the last possible ounce of laughter dies out before it has a chance to leave his lips.

After the funeral, the following scene comes years later. Yuuri is startled when he sees his Viktor, nearing his forties, standing in front of a mirror, fixing his tie. He is wearing a grey suit, looking not one bit less elegant than usual. His hairline has thinned tremendously from the last time Yuuri saw him, his face hanging in a way some might find unattractive. But for Yuuri, he is still the most handsome man he's ever seen, despite the almost purple bags under his eyes. Oh, how he’d give anything to be there, to press a soft kiss on his cheek and tell him how stunning he looks.

A black car picks Viktor up as he leaves his mansion, holding a bouquet of pink roses in his hand. Yuuri follows him, curious as to where he is going. It couldn’t be—he couldn’t be going to visit Yuuri’s grave, could he?

They arrive in front of a church and Yuuri feels uneasiness inside of him. Is this the moment Viktor lets go of him? The day is sunny, the sky cloudless and as blue as Viktor’s eyes. Yuuri walks behind the Russian man as he makes his way towards the church. Yuuri inhales when he realises they aren’t going to the graveyard but inside the church.

It’s buzzing with people. Yuuri notices many familiar faces, watches Viktor getting greeted on his way to sit at the front. The atmosphere is light, and it takes Yuuri until the music starts playing to realize what is going on. He has been too invested in Viktor, he has failed to notice the man in a white suit standing at the front. His eyes widen when he recognises the stoic face, just in time when the church door opens, and the bridegroom walks in.

Yuri Plisetsky looks dazzling in his white tuxedo. Yuuri swallows back tears as he watches the other Yuri, Viktor’s adopted brother, smile wider than he ever has as he walks down the aisle. The smile that lights up Otabek’s face as he looks at his husband-to-be makes Yuuri shake in his seat. 

Yuuri turns to look at Viktor, his breath catching when he sees the pure joy and admiration in his eyes. This, Yuuri finds it overwhelmingly beautiful. His beloved, happy and moving on.

After that, Yuuri witnesses Viktor growing old, scenes changing in rapid speed showing how he adopts a pile of puppies, fixes the garden and holds tea parties with his friends. He is full of life, although the wrinkles on his face grow deeper each time he reappears in front of Yuuri’s eyes.

When the time for the last memory comes, Yuuri is too full of emotions to fully comprehend what he sees. It is a cold, wintery day, with snow falling slowly onto the white ground. Viktor is crouched in front of Yuuri’s grave, his eyes shimmering with tears.

“I love you, Yuuri, so,  _ so  _ very much,” Viktor says, his hair ruffling in the cold breeze. “I know I will never understand the pain you went through, will never know what I could’ve done differently to prevent you from…”

He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing, voice lower than before. “No, I think I see now that there is nothing I could’ve done differently. I’m sad my love wasn’t enough to keep you alive, my Yuuri. Oh, how it pains me every day. But I—I only ask for one thing, and that is that you’re happy now, that you get to be in the better place, the place where you yearned to be. Yuuri, I wish you happiness and freedom.”

Yuuri chokes in his tears as the scene fades into white, and then to black. He blinks in the darkness, eyes dropping to the glimmering soul twirling in his hands. There are no words, nothing he can do to wrap his mind around what he just saw. His face twists into a pained cry as sobs tear through his body.

All he knows for sure is that now, he can finally die.

But no, he can’t really. Not yet, not until he has served the Death well enough and long enough. But what he can do is to take Viktor with him, take him to the afterlife and hold him safe, hold him close until Thanatos has deemed his service has been enough.

He will wait until he can die, and then—

And then, he is going to  _ live. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art is here! 🥺🥰✨ made by the most amazing and talented cupromantic 🤩
> 
> Links to the art: [twitter](https://twitter.com/cupromantic/status/1327735789300625414), [tumblr](https://cupromantic.tumblr.com/post/634799873495007232/finally-my-viktuuriangstbang-piece-with) and [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CHlox2pJYY4/)
> 
> Thank you for everyone who read this little thing ❤️ Although it took me a long time to make it, it's one of the most precious fics I've ever written aksljdjflsksd so thank you for sticking through

**Author's Note:**

> Updates twice a week, on Tuesday and Saturday ^^
> 
> You can find info about me from my [Carrd](https://lonesome-writer.carrd.co)


End file.
